


Coffee, black.

by marimoliciousness (thebirdlady)



Category: One Piece
Genre: Bickering, Canonverse AU, Fluff, M/M, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-19 00:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2368085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebirdlady/pseuds/marimoliciousness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sanji never really believed that strangers are just friends we haven’t met yet, but when a taciturn mosshead in a ridiculous disguise finds his way into the Baratie coffee shop, things are about to change.</p><p>Contains mild spoilers for the Dressrosa Arc.</p><p>Comments are love! <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee, black.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the ZoSan Coffee Shop AU Project on [tumblr](http://zosancoffeeshopau.tumblr.com/). Since the project called for a Coffee Shop AU and I’m not the biggest fan of modern AUs, I took a few liberties with the canonverse, instead.
> 
> This is set - very loosely - within the Dressrosa Arc (spoilers are very mild), and two of the Strawhats are friends Luffy (or, in this case, Zoro) hasn’t met yet. Also, in canonverse there are no bills under 1000 Beri; I adjusted that to fit my purposes.
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3 Constructive criticism of any kind is more than welcome!

“Coffee, black.”

“Of course. Sir.” Gritting his teeth, Sanji forced his face into an expression that just barely managed to stay within the shop’s guidelines for employee conduct. _Great service begins with a smile_. It was one of his old man’s ground rules - which was pretty ironic given that Sanji had never seen the shitty geezer smile at anyone, ever. And it wasn’t as if Sanji was opposed to the concept per se. In fact, he had no trouble at all adhering to this very simple rule where any of the gorgeous ladies who frequented the _Baratie_ coffee shop were concerned. Whipping up their orders of vanilla-soy-latte-decaf or chai-latte-extra-nutmeg-no-cream he felt so lighthearted, he’d practially dance behind the counter, deliriously happy to be given the opportunity to make their day just a little bit brighter. He usually even managed to scrounge up a believable smile for their male customers, taking as much pride (if less joy) in creating perfect drinks for them.

To Sanji, making coffee was an artform, a constant strive for beauty and excellence. But it was also something much more profound. Underneath all the frills, providing drinks for the thirsty spoke to Sanji on a very fundamental level. He might deny this, loudly if necessary, but the truth was that he would serve anyone who entered the _Baratie_ , no matter if they were female or male, human or toy, rich or poor. Still, their first-rate location near the Royal Palace on Dressrosa meant that their clientele was first-rate, as well.

And then there was this weirdo.

About Sanji’s own age, he sported a well-tailored black suit (which Sanji approved of) and a set of three dangling golden earrings (which Sanji didn’t approve of at all). A similar number of swords were strapped to his hip. The man’s most prominent feature, however, was his short and obviously fake green hair. Well, that and the obviously fake white moustache.

The first time he’d shown up a couple of days ago, Sanji had been so startled by the absurd get-up that he’d burst out laughing hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. The man’s shades - of course, he was the kind of idiot who wore sunglasses indoors - did little to conceal his frown, which only added more fuel to Sanji’s mirth.

It took a sharp look (and a sharp elbow in his side) from Nami at the next till for Sanji to collect himself enough to ask, “What can I help you with, sir?”

“Coffee, black.”

Ah. So he was one of _those_. Sanji’s mood turned sour.

“Anything else with that?” he asked with a pointed look at the board above his head, which listed their extensive variety of choices.

“No.”

“To go or to drink here?,” Sanji bit out.

There was an unexpected pause, which left Sanji time to muse if the green stuff on his head could be the idiot’s marimo-for-brains pushing through his skull.

“Here.”

With a huff, Sanji turned around to the coffee maker, drawing the least exciting drink the sophisticated machine was capable of and put it on the counter, turning the cup with practiced ease so that the _Baratie’s_ logo - a tasteful pattern of tiny fish in all shades of blue - was facing the customer.

“That’s 500 Beri.”

The man drew a crumpled lump of bills from his pocket, extracted a few and placed them on the counter before grabbing the mug and downing his coffee in one go.

“Hot?” Sanji asked, smirking as he watched the colour crawl up the marimo’s neck straight to the roots of his ridiculous hair.

“Fuck you,” the man croaked.

“And a good day to you, too, sir,” Sanji replied pleasantly, still smirking when his customer stiffly turned and marched out of the shop.

“Well, that was a strange one,” Nami mused.

“Yeah,” Sanji said, distractedly, his eyes still on the idiot in front of their store window, who first walked a few steps to the right, then left, then right again, before striding straight across the street, where he was soon lost from sight. Shaking his head, Sanji turned to find Nami regarding him curiously. Flustered because he had not given her proper attention, he launched into an effusive response that, yes, this customer had, indeed, been very strange, not to mention an unmannered bastard who wouldn’t know outstanding coffee if it kicked him in the a- … ankle.

“Well, that’s probably the last we’ve seen of him anyway,” Nami said, returning to her till as a one of her regulars approached.

And while Nami’s predictions were usually uncannily accurate, this time Sanji found that she was sadly mistaken.

*** 

“Coffee, black.”

 _No way_. He was back. Three swords? Check. Green hair? Check. Mustache and shades? Check and check. Fucking unbelievable.

“Of course, sir, anything else with that?”

“No.”

“To go or to drink here?”

“Here.”

As he worked the machine, Sanji shot Nami a look, but she only shrugged in return. As far as she was concerned, as long as they paid up, their customers could be as weird as they wanted.

“That’s 500 Beri.”

A jumble of coins and crumpled notes landed on the counter. Muttering about unrefined bastards who didn’t even carry a wallet, Sanji evened the bills out with the edge of his hand, while keeping a surreptitious eye on the customer. To Sanji’s great disappointment, however, he didn’t gulp down the coffee this time, but took the precaution to blow on it until it cooled down enough to drink safely.

“Huh, so you _can_ teach an old marimo new tricks.”

“Shut up, dartbrow.”

Sanji couldn’t help but grin as the man turned, scowling, and strode for the door.

“Thank you for your patronage, sir” he called after him and was rewarded with a very rude hand gesture. Amused, Sanji watched him go through the same left-right-left dance he had performed the day before. This time, however, he eventually took off to the right.

“You seem in a good mood,” Nami commented.

“I’m always in a good mood when my darling Nami is around!” he exclaimed, happily twirling around, because she had cared to make such a personal observation about him. It made him miss the speculative look flitting across her face.

***

“Coffee, black.”

Three days in a row. As he had before, the marimo came in after the morning rush was over and before the noon bustle began. It was no secret that Sanji didn’t bear idleness well and so he welcomed any break in the lull. Even if it came in the shape of uncultured buffoons.

“To go or to drink here?”

“Here.”

“That’s 500 Beri,” Sanji paused. ”You do realise that you could spend a lot less if you just took it to go? Or bought it from a fucking vending machine.”

There was a gasp from the next till and Sanji knew he was in trouble. The indignation Nami was emanating was almost palpable, raising the tiny hairs on his arms and neck. 

“The _Baratie_ welcomes your custom of course,” he amended hastily, and the oppressive feeling vanished. “May I offer you anything else?”

“No,” came the expected answer. But when Sanji turned to the coffee maker, he was startled that the usually taciturn man kept speaking. “I like it here. Also, vending machine coffee tastes like crap.”

“You should know.” Sanji’s mind was still reeling from the fact that the dumbass was, after all, capable of stringing together enough words to make whole sentences.

“Shut up,dartbrow.”

“The name’s Sanji, says so right here for those who can read,” Sanji tapped the name tag pinned to his dress shirt. “And those who are not wearing stupid sunglasses inside a fucking building.”

“Like I care.”

The coffee was taken directly from Sanji’s hands and - after being carefully blown on - quickly downed.

“Thank you for your patronage, Marimo.”

“Up yours.”

Tossing the usual selection of creased bills and coins onto the counter the man made for the door. His hand already on the handle, he stopped, however, to tell him gruffly, “It’s Zoro.” He seemed on the brink of saying something more, but apparently deciding against it, he just stepped outside without another word.

“Two thousand says he’ll end up going left today.”

Half a minute later Sanji was poorer in money, but somewhat richer in confusion.

 *** 

“Coffee, black.”

It wasn’t as if Sanji had been waiting for him, but he did find himself grinning as he turned around from where he had been cleaning the coffee maker. Then he blinked. The shades that usually hid most of Zoro’s face had been pushed up into his hair, revealing a dark and surprisingly sharp right eye - and a scar running from his brow to his cheek on the left side of his face. Sanji was even more surprised to find that the man actually appeared to be rather handsome, in an angular, scowling sort of way. Realising that he was staring Sanji quickly busied himself with preparing the usual order.

When he set down the cup on the counter, he was still feeling strangely jittery though. Itching for a cigarette, but restrained by Zeff’s strict no-smoking-indoors policy, he had no option but to assume as nonchalant a pose as he could manage and ignore his beloved Nami, who was shooting him a far-too-shrewd look.

_Casual does it. Just keep your mouth shut until he goes away, and you’ll be fine._

“So, what’s with the disguise?”

_Shit._

The shift in Zoro’s stance was subtle but striking. In a flash, one hand had moved to rest purposefully on a sword hilt, feet spread a little wider to provide optimum weight distribution, and the dark eye narrowed dangerously, piercing Sanji to the core. He drew in a shuddering breath. The marimo was practically exuding killing intent! It only lasted for a second, but Sanji’s nerves were still crackling when the brusque reply came.

“Can’t tell you.”

From the corner of his eye Sanji saw Nami discreetly trying to get his attention, probably to warn him, but there was _no fucking way_ he’d let himself be intimidated by this crazy bastard. Raising his eyebrow in mockery, he asked,

“Oh, is this one of those things where you _could_ tell me, but then you’d have to kill me?”

“Yes.”

Sanji’s jaw dropped. “You have got to be shitting me!”

All he got in return was a hard glare and 500 Beri slammed onto the counter.

Before Sanji could launch into a proper tirade about pompous, over-compensating, lunatic assholes, Zoro was already leaving. This time, he strode straight off to the right.

He left behind a fuming Sanji. Not only had the shitty marimo deprived him of a perfectly good rant, he’d also wasted perfectly good coffee! Untouched and slowly getting cold, the offensive beverage was sitting on the counter next to a couple of scrunched up bills.

“I need a smoke,” he muttered and, avoiding Nami’s accusing eyes, he went out to the small court behind the _Baratie’s_ back door. Once outside, he quickly fished a cigarette from its pack, lit it and inhaled deeply. As always, the nicotine did a great job soothing his nerves. Unfortunately, it did nothing to calm his still racing thoughts. What had just happened in there anyway? It all seemed so unreal now.

Of course, Sanji was no stranger to people who fought for a living. This was the New World, after all. Even living in the relative peace of Dressrosa, Sanji was a veteran of many fights. With so many lovely ladies around, there was no shortage of dickheads who treated them with far less courtesy than they deserved.

Still, in all of his fights Sanji had never met anyone as _intense_ as this marimo bastard. He hadn’t even drawn his swords, and yet Sanji knew that they were no mere props. That man could fight! He could recall Zoro in every detail, the hair-trigger readiness, that sharp gaze, the power that crackled between them, making Sanji shudder helplessly. He’d been so _thrilled_! Even now he could feel the low, steady hum of excitement course through his veins. Sanji grinned around his cigarette. Tomorrow, he’d draw the marimo into a real fight.

When he made his way back inside, he found that Nami, his angel, had already cleared away the abandoned cup. She knew how much he hated wasting things, and he gladly agreed to repay her with all of today’s tips.

*** 

The next day, Zoro didn’t show up.

***

Nor the next.

***

Or the next. 

***

“Coffee, black.”

“Of course. Sir.” Gritting his teeth, Sanji forced his face into an expression that just barely managed to stay within the shop’s guidelines for employee conduct. Green hair? Check. Stupid outfit? Check. But apart from that, this customer was nothing like the man Sanji _had not been waiting for at all_! Three earrings may be ridiculous but a fucking nose ring? That was just unaesthetic. As for the fangs and filed teeth, he refused to even go there.

Still, a customer was a customer, no matter how crappy their fashion sense.

“Anything else with that?”

“Do you have meat?”

“No. This is a fucking _coffee shop_.”

“Then no.”

“To go or to drink here?”

“Um…,”

“And when has _that_ become a fucking trick question!”

“To go, then?”

“That’s 400 Beri.”

By the time he exchanged the coffee for a couple of irritatingly uncreased bills, Sanji’s mood was blacker than a Celestial Dragon’s heart. It didn’t help that Nami cornered him as soon as the customer was well out the door.

“What’s wrong with you? You were this close to picking a fight with a 150,000,000 Beri bounty!”

Sanji just shrugged, looking anywhere but at her. But Nami wouldn’t be put off so easily. Taking a step right into his personal space, she looked at him closely for a long moment. When he still wouldn’t meet her eyes, she stepped back again, crossing her arms under her bosom, a knowing smile on her lips.

“You miss him!”

“I do not!”

“Sanji, under normal circumstances you’d be wiping the blood from under your nose if I did this.” She tightened her arms to accentuate her cleavage a bit more. “But you’re not even interested.”

Sanji blushed, not sure if he was more embarrassed by her noticing his, ah, excitement before or his distraction now. Which, for the record, was entirely unrelated to the shitty marimo.

“I’m just a little off today, Nami-swan.”

“You’ve been off for a week now. But,” her smile turned softer, “I’ve also never seen you happier.”

“I’m not… I mean I wasn’t… you can’t be serious!”

Nami shrugged. “I don’t understand it, frankly. All you two do is bicker and insult each other.”

“That’s because he’s a fucking moron,” Sanji muttered.

“It’s true you seem happy enough to fall all over yourself in order to please the ladies, but for you to be actually enjoying yourself while being … _you_ …well, this is a first.”

“Nami…”

“And let’s not forget that _he_ seems to like it, too. He’s come back, again and again.”

“He _did_. Past tense.” Sanji was surprised at how bitter he sounded.

“Yes. Like clockwork. To a place that’s not particularly distinguishable from any other coffee shop.” Sanji bristled at that, but Nami kept talking. “When it’s obvious that he’s likely to get lost even on his own ship.”

Sanji’s heart had been beating harder with every point Nami made and was now pounding almost painfully in his chest. _No_. _Nonono_. _Impossible_. Nami might be implying… something, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be true. Not on the marimo’s part and certainly not on Sanji’s own. Then his mind snagged on something.

“His ship? You mean he’s-“

“-a pirate? Yes. And not one of the common riffraff either.”

Nami walked over to their stack of old newspapers and rummaged through it until she found what she was looking for. Spreading the paper on the counter, she beckoned for Sanji to take a look. Underneath an article warning about a group that called itself the Mugiwara Pirates were their wanted posters. He skimmed over the pictures of a grinning boy in a straw hat, an incredibly beautiful woman, two men with weird noses, one who was so skinny he looked like a skeleton with an afro and … was that a tanuki? The picture that drew his attention, however, was of the crew’s grim-looking first mate. Sanji couldn’t tell the colour of his hair from the black and white picture, but there was no mistaking the scar that ran over his left eye. _Roronoa Zoro, Bounty 120,000,000 Beri._ Sanji’s heart skipped a beat.

“Wow,” he breathed.

“Yeah,” Nami agreed. “Good thing he took off his sunglasses, after you ribbed him about them, or you probably wouldn’t even recognise him.”

“Wait a minute, how long have _you_ known?”

“That he’s the famous pirate hunter Roronoa Zoro?” Sanji nodded. “From the moment he first set foot in here.”

“What? How.”

“Ah, Sanji,” she winked, tapping a finger to the side of her nose. “Know your customers. There’s always a chance that new business opportunities might come up.”

Sanji’s eyes widened. “You’re not planning on selling him out, are you?”

A strange look flitted across her face, but before Sanji could apologise, Nami flashed him a grin. “Not if you like him, I won’t.”

“I don’t-,“ he protested, but Nami was already on her way to the door.

“You can close up without me today, right, Sanji-kun?”

“Of course I can, my angel. Please don’t worry about me.”

“See you tomorrow then.”

“Good night, Nami-swan.”

*

After Sanji had locked up behind her, he cleaned the coffee maker, wiped down the tables, swept the floor and checked and locked the tills. It was routine work, but it did help to shut up his swirling mind for a while. Deciding to take a smoke break before he checked everything one final time, he stepped out the back door. The stars were already out and Sanji just stood there for a moment, relishing the tranquility after a tumultuous day. Leaning against the door, he lit up a cigarette and blew smoke rings into the night air.

_A pirate, huh?_

There had been times when Sanji had wanted nothing more than to go to sea and find an impossible dream. But then things had happened and leaving had no longer been an option. He wasn’t really regretting it. Life had a way of forcing you to prioritise and there was no use fighting this. But Sanji also knew better than to test old wounds. There was a reason why he didn’t stay abreast of what went on out there, where pirates of his own age were challenging the government, carving their own paths into the world.

_120,000,000 Beri._

If even Zoro had managed to accumulate such a bounty, how much might Sanji have made, given the chance? … Ah, so it did still hurt. 

Sanji crunched the spent butt of his cigarette under his shoe. He was just about to go back inside, when he heard it. A slight scratching sound, followed by stifled gasp. Sanji squinted, and if his eyes hadn’t been used to the dark by now, he might have missed it, but there, in the corner next to the trash bins, he’d seen movement.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Sanji went to investigate.

*

“What the fuck, Zoro!”

Heart pounding, Sanji reached the man just in time to catch him as he collapsed. Lowering them both as carefully as he could, he breathed a sigh of relief when his fingers found a strong, if slightly irregular pulse in Zoro’s throat. 

Struggling a little with Zoro’s weight - the marimo seemed to be constructed of nothing but muscle and sinews - he arranged their bodies so that he was leaning against the wall with Zoro’s back cradled in the crook of his shoulder and arm. Uncertainly at first, but telling himself that he needed to assess the damage, Sanji cupped Zoro’s jaw and gently turned his head from one side to the other. The false beard was gone. Zoro’s eyes were shut and there was blood and grime everywhere, but his injuries appeared to be limited to bruises and scratches. He was wheezing though, and Sanji tried to determine if any ribs were cracked or even broken, but the angle was awkward and the stupid swords kept getting in his way.

He was just trying to wriggle his fingers underneath the formerly white shirt, when Zoro’s good eye opened and his whole body tensed.

“It’s me,” Sanji said quietly, keeping perfectly still, as if dealing with a wounded animal that might rip his throat out at the slightest provocation. Zoro was a trained fighter, after all. Of course, he’d kick the marimo’s ass later for making him feel so vulnerable.

“I know.”

With that, the tension abruptly seeped from his body and he sagged heavily in Sanji’s arms. Zoro had closed his eye again and the wheezing quickly turned to snoring. _Wait, what?_

“Oi.”

No reaction.

“Oi, Marimo! You can’t sleep here.”

Nothing.

Sanji sighed, then shifted Zoro not too gently until he could reach his cigarettes. Settling into a more comfortable position, he lit up and let his head fall back against the wall. The ground was hard, the leg supporting the marimo’s dead weight was already going numb, and his body was cold where he wasn’t covered by the muscle-bound furnace in his arms. But Sanji felt more at peace than he had in a long time.

*

The peacefulness lasted for about an hour. Then Sanji had had enough and, figuring that the marimo could take it, proceeded to wake him up with a few well-placed nudges to his ribs and half-dragged, half-guided him the few paces to the welcome warmth of the _Baratie_. Settling Zoro on the floor so he could lean against the counter, Sanji went to the employee facilities to find a bowl, soap, a few rags and clean bandages from the medicine chest. After setting all of it down within easy reach, he went to the sink behind the counter and filled a pitcher with warm water. He poured some of it into the bowl, then rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt and squatted down next to a disgruntled-looking Zoro.

“What’s all that?”

“I should’ve known you wouldn’t recognise soap when you saw it.” Sanji took the bar and held it up for Zoro’s inspection. “It’s soap. We use it to clean ourselves.”

“Asshole.” Zoro swatted at his hand, but couldn’t entirely hide the pain the move caused him.

“Look here,” Sanji said reasonably, “you’re obviously injured and even an idiot like you should know that the sooner wounds are treated-“

Zoro scowled at him.

“-the sooner you can go back and kick those bastards’ asses!” The scowl transformed into a look of incredulity. “What? You think I haven’t been in fights before?”

“You’re a barista.”

Sanji snorted and started tugging on Zoro’s bloody and tattered jacket. After some token resistance, Zoro finally gave in. It took some time and not a little wincing on both their parts, but they finally managed to get his upper body undressed.

Sanji whistled through his teeth.

“Like what you see?” It sounded more like a challenge than flirting, but it still did strange things to Sanji’s stomach. Thing was, he _did_ like what he saw. Not just the clearly well-trained body, though that certainly didn’t hurt. No, he was far more interested in the scar, old, but of the kind that would never fade, running from Zoro's collarbone across his entire torso down to his hip. A scar that evoked Sanji's honest respect for the swordsman. He didn’t need to check to know that there would be no scars on this man’s back.

Realising that he was staring again, he mumbled a quick “Who would, asshole”, and busied himself with a washrag. Avoiding Zoro’s eye, he began meticulously cleaning his body.

As it turned out, the bruises far outweighed the cuts, and if Sanji hadn’t known better…

“This looks as if you were pelted with rocks.”

“Something like that.”

“What! Who _are_ these people you’re after?

“Bad people.”

“No shit.”

Since Zoro didn’t respond, Sanji tried another approach. 

“So, what happened?”

“My cover was blown somehow.”

“Really.” Sanji said dryly. “And with that false beard being so inconspicuous, too.”

Zoro glared and Sanji chuckled, then waved a hand, indicating Zoro’s head.

“So, why didn’t you get rid of the dye-job, too?

“It’s real,” Zoro gritted out.

“No way!” Sanji’s looked up in surprise. Which was a mistake. Their eyes met, and a bolt of electricity sizzled through Sanji’s veins, making his extremities tingle. His heart was racing, blood rushing in his ears.

_You like him._

_No._

_Nononono._

It was Zoro who broke the spell.

“Okay, we’re done.” He tried to grab the rag, but Sanji swatted his hand away.

“Stop that, I’m almost finished. I’ll apply the bandages next.”

“I don’t need them.”

“You’ll get them anyway.”

Zoro grunted, but didn’t press the matter. Sanji swiped across the scar one final time, delighted at the ripple that went through the taut muscles wherever he touched. Zoro’s breath caught, but when Sanji looked up, the dark gaze was fixed on the ceiling. _That's probably for the best._

With shaking hands, Sanji set the bloody rag aside and unrolled the bandages. Since Zoro had suffered far fewer cuts than bruises, he was quickly done.

This would have been the perfect time to put some distance between the two of them, giving them both the space to plausibly deny what they may have just felt. But the next thing Sanji knew, he’d taken up a fresh rag and moved to dip it into the clean water left in the pitcher. Zoro’s hand on his wrist stopped him.

“Oi, what are you doing?”

Zoro’s grip was firm, not painful, but Sanji’s free hand moved out of reflex, trying to pry it off. His heart was hammering, but since he’d just missed the last exit out of this strange attraction, anyway, he swallowed hard and looked Zoro straight in the eye.

“Your face, mosshead. I can’t do much about the ugliness, but I can at least clean it.”

“I can take care of that myself. Dartbrow.”

As soon as their eyes locked, it was a contest and neither of them was prepared to back down. Sanji had to admit that Zoro’s scowl was impressive, but there was only one person in the world who could beat Sanji at sheer stubbornness. His grip on Zoro’s wrist tightened and his surprise must have shown on his face, because Zoro pulled his hand away as if he had been burned. Turning his face away, mouth drawn in a tight line, he looked decidedly uncomfortable, and, oh, Sanji could empathise. Zoro’s pulse had been racing.

He moistend the rag and slowly raised it to Zoro’s face. When he wasn’t stopped, he started cautiously wiping at his chin, his cheeks, his forehead. Then he cleaned the rag again and brushed it over his sharp eyebrows, down the straight nose, the still fresh scar.

Zoro’s breathing hitched, but he still didn’t turn around, every muscle in his body strung taut.

Sanji set the cloth aside and settled his fingers against Zoro’s face. He pushed, gently, and was thrilled when Zoro followed his lead and allowed him to turn his head until Sanji could cup his jaw in both hands, the quick pulse, mirroring his own, thrumming under his fingertips. Sanji brushed the pad of his thumb across his cheek and warm, chapped lips, and almost lost it when they parted slightly, a harsh breath brushing against his skin.

_Fuck, you’re beautiful._

With a sense of desperation Sanji sought Zoro’s gaze again, and this time he found it. Even darker than usual, there was a hunger behind that guarded look that filled Sanji with no little awe - and even more arousal. Zoro wanted him. And Sanji wanted Zoro. Badly.

“Zoro,” he breathed, leaning in. And Zoro met him half-way, warm lips pressing against his own, claiming him. Sanji’s own hunger awoke. Pressing himself close to Zoro's solid body, he carded his fingers into green hair, holding on tightly.And when a large hand found his ass and pulled him even closer, the other one travelling up his spine and into his hair, Sanji moaned, welcoming the tongue that invaded his mouth.

*

A few hours later still found them under the counter. Sanji was sitting between Zoro’s legs, back snuggled against his front and humming contently as Zoro’s massaged lazy circles into his scalp.

“Oi, Marimo.”

“What is it?”

“When you’re going out to kick those guys' asses, I’m coming with.”

Zoro’s fingers stilled and he grew tense.

“Just so you know,” Sanji added calmly, “this is me informing you, not asking your permission.”

Zoro huffed. “Can you even fight?”

“I’ll have you know that my old man was a master of Savate before… Anyway. He taught me since I could walk, so yeah, I can fight.”

“Sava-what now?”

“Savate. It’s French, dumbass.”

“Tch. Some fancy-pansy ballet stuff, I'll bet.”

Sanji snorted. “Fine, I’ll show you.”

Clearing some space, Sanji stretched thoroughly - more for Zoro’s benefit than his own - and then showed what he could do within the limits of the room.

When he finished, he was not a little pissed to find that Zoro was still looking skeptical.

“What?”

“That’s all very pretty, but can you pack a punch?”

Turned out, a well aimed kick in the side was all it needed to convince Zoro.

*

 _“_ It’s getting light, marimo. Shall we?”

“Yeah.”

Sanji leaned in with a smile, lips just about to touch. “Anything else before we go?”

A pause.

“Coffee, black.”

Sanji kissed him anyway.


End file.
